It was little more than 10 years ago that I lost my best friend, Ken, to suicide.It happened one bright spring weekend. The day before, knowing he had been uncharacteristically out of touch, I tried calling him, no answer. I went over an knocked on his door, rang the door bell. Left phone messages. Emails.
He loved action movies. Let's go out and see a flick, I offered. You know. Escape life's stresses and worries for an afternoon. Laugh, like we always did. Talk, sometimes about deep things, other times just memories.
Ken had some great stories. Stories so great, you would wonder if they were apocryphal . . . until you learned from someone else that, "Yes, he did take on four guys in a park and sent them running." Or, "Yes, he did break a sack of cement over the head of an obnoxious boss once."
He loved practical jokes. Me, too. We victimized each other from time to time, and he always bellowed that deep laugh of his, and grinned widely . . . even as his eyes told you, "You're next, bud."
He was a big man. Big tall, 6-foot-4, and big physically, a man mountain. When he laughed, people noticed.
But there was no answer from Ken that March day in 2003. Finally, the fire department arrived. They found him in his bedroom, dead, from a massive overdose of over-the-counter sleeping medications.
He had gone to several stores to get enough; the empty bags and cartons and receipts were nearby.
In the days and weeks that followed his funeral, we learned of his dark, abusive side. It was a hidden horror his family had endured.
Those times came in cycles, at first rare, but as his mental state deteriorated, more frequent. I remain convinced to this day, that he finally decided to end it, at least in part to protect his family -- before one of his black moods ended in bloodshed.
Nothing, of course, is ever so clearly defined. Some suicides are plain acts of selfishness, a desire to punish from the grave. Others come at the precipice of hopelessness, grief. Yet others are unexplainable, brought on by psychotic breaks with reality, desperation to end the hell of perception when reality flees and gives way to madness. And some are all these things, and more.
In my current role as a public safety reporter, hardly a week goes by where there is not a murder-suicide. The most recent was an elderly couple. She was in terminal, failing and painful health; he wanted her pain to end, and his own.
That almost seems understandable. My own parents, one in the late stages of Alzheimer's, the other enduring painful arthritis and failing eyesight, might be such a couple but for their enduring love for each other and trust in God. Faith sustains them, helps them endure, and trust that their time will come when it supposed to -- by His hand, not their own.
To this day, I am convinced Ken could have been helped. But in the sad equation of his life, he refused to do the therapy, take the drugs, and he had lost faith. Perhaps he was not capable, at that point, of reaching out for help. I don't know; and I will not judge.
But I still miss my friend.
This year, suicide also touched the life of internationally known pastor Rick Warren, of the Saddleback Church and "Purpose Driven Life" fame. His youngest son took his own life.
How this man of faith, along with his remaining family are dealing with this at Thanksgiving time is poignant, and faith- and life-affirming. In a piece requested by Time Magazine, we wrote in part:
"This year became the worst year of my life when my youngest son, who’d struggled since childhood with mental illness, took his own life. How am I supposed be thankful this Thanksgiving? When your heart’s been ripped apart, you feel numb, not grateful.
"And yet the Bible tells us "Give thanks IN all circumstances . . . ." The key is the word “in.” God doesn’t expect me to be thankful FOR all circumstances, but IN all circumstances."
Warren goes on with this list what he is thankful for this season. Here are some of them:
I’m thankful that, even though I don’t have all the answers, God does. In tragedy we seek explanations, but explanations never comfort. It is God’s presence that eases our pain.
I’m thankful for the hope of heaven. I won’t have to live with pain forever. In heaven, there are no broken relationships, broken minds, broken bodies, broken dreams, or broken promises.
I’m thankful for my church family. ... in our darkest hour as a family, they gave all that love back in a split-second, the moment Kay and I returned to speak after a 16-week grief sabbatical. We can handle anything with prayers and support like that.
I’m thankful that God can bring good even out of the bad in my life, when I give him the pieces. It’s his specialty. God loves to turn crucifixions into resurrections, and then benefit the whole world. God never wastes a hurt if we give it to him."
To read Pastor Warren's article in full, click on this link.
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